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Mud clung to the tires as the trucks rumbled to life, engines coughing out thick clouds of smoke into the morning air. Rain still drizzled lightly, soaking the earth and turning the field into a churned mess of boots and rubber. Soldiers piled in, weapons across their laps, faces tight with tension. Mason and Jake found their spots in the third truck from the front, their gear slung beside them.
Neither of them noticed the pair of alert eyes watching from behind a stack of crates.
The Belgian Malinois crouched low, ears perked, tracking every movement. As the trucks began to pull away from camp, the dog moved quickly—its paws silent against the wet ground. It slipped between the scattered equipment and soldiers loading the last of the supplies, careful to stay out of sight.
Jake leaned back against the side panel of the truck, staring blankly at the misty horizon. Mason sat across from him, helmet tilted forward, half-dozing.
Just behind the vehicle, the dog followed.
It darted from shadow to shadow, tail low, keeping pace with the convoy. Every time someone glanced back, it froze in place—blending into brush or ducking under gear piles. The field faded behind them, the trees closing in as they hit the muddy back road leading to the front lines.
Inside the truck, Jake glanced toward the flap at the rear. “Did you hear something?”
Mason looked up lazily. “What, the wheels? The rain? The sound of impending death?”
Jake smirked, but the moment passed quickly. He leaned forward, peeking out. For just a split second, he thought he saw something—a shape in the mud.
He narrowed his eyes, but the truck jostled hard over a pothole and threw his focus. “Never mind,” he muttered.
The rain kept coming in a light mist, tapping gently on the tarp above. Jake could hear some of the other guys muttering prayers under their breath. The kind of quiet pleading that only happened when you're about to walk into hell. One soldier had his hands clutched tight around a locket; another kept checking the safety on his rifle, over and over.
“First time seeing real action?” Mason asked, eyes on Jake.
Jake nodded. “You?”
Mason gave a half-smile. “Third. But that doesn't mean I’m any more ready.”
They rode in silence for a few more miles.
The convoy slowed to a crawl as they approached a forward outpost. Camouflaged netting covered bunkers and tents, and men with rifles stood at attention as the trucks pulled in. The smell of mud, sweat, and oil hung heavy in the air.
Jake and Mason hopped down. The ground here was firmer, but tension hung thick in the air. This was it. War was real now.
Jake turned to grab his gear—and froze.
There, just under the edge of the truck, panting softly, tongue out and tail thumping against the mud, was the same dog. The Belgian Malinois.
Mason blinked. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”
Jake crouched. “You again?”
The dog stepped forward, ears back, eyes locked onto Jake with what looked like complete confidence.
Another soldier passed by and shouted, “Hey! Whose dog is that?”
Jake stood up fast. “No idea. Probably wandered in from the woods.”
The soldier shrugged and kept moving.
Mason glanced around. “He followed us all this way?”
Jake nodded. “Carefully. Quietly.”
They both looked at the dog, who now sat beside their gear, as if he'd always been part of the unit.
“Gear up! Move to formation!” someone called again.
Soldiers snapped into motion.
Jake grabbed his rifle. Mason pulled his pack on. They both looked down one last time.
The dog stood up and followed.
No one stopped him.
Not a word was said.
Hours later, the unit had moved deeper into contested territory. They marched through trenches and brush, stepping cautiously, rifles raised. Gunfire cracked in the distance. A haze of smoke drifted from a destroyed outpost a few clicks north.
The dog stayed low, sticking close to Jake and Mason. A few other soldiers gave it strange looks but said nothing. One even tossed it a piece of jerky, which the dog took politely before falling back into formation.
Jake kept glancing at the dog. “He’s not just tagging along. He’s watching. Like he knows what’s happening.”
Mason gave a slight nod. “Smart one.”
A sharp whistle cut through the air.
“Take cover!” someone shouted.
Bullets tore through branches. Dirt kicked up at their feet.
“AMBUSH!”
Mason dove behind a collapsed tree, Jake hitting the ground next to him. The dog dropped, ears back, teeth bared.
Gunfire roared. Shouts echoed. Chaos.
Jake returned fire, popping up and ducking quickly. Mason’s shots cracked beside him, but then—
A yelp.
Mason let out a grunt and fell backward. Jake grabbed him, dragging him behind a tree.
“You okay?” Jake asked, eyes scanning his friend.
Mason winced, clutching his shoulder. Blood soaked his jacket. “Just a graze. Burns like hell.”
Jake tore some fabric from his undershirt and pressed it against the wound. “You’re not dying today.”
The dog stood protectively in front of them, growling low, scanning the tree line.
Jake caught his breath. “You still with me, Mason?”
“Yeah,” Mason muttered. “Don’t let my mom find out I got taken out by a tree branch.”
Jake laughed once, despite the tension.
The fight lasted minutes but felt like hours. Bullets whizzed past, bark splintered from trees, and smoke burned their lungs.
Eventually, silence fell. Enemy fire ceased. A signal was called out. “CLEAR!”
One by one, the soldiers rose, cautiously scanning.
Jake helped Mason to his feet. The dog stayed close, nudging Mason’s hand gently.
Mason looked down at it and chuckled weakly. “You’re a weird mutt, you know that?”
The Belgian Malinois wagged its tail once.
Jake slung Mason’s arm over his shoulder. “Let’s get back to base.”
They walked slowly, the sun beginning to dip behind the hills. Shadows stretched long, the scent of gunpowder still hanging in the air. Other soldiers passed by, nodding in silence or checking gear. Some looked at the dog, a mix of curiosity and quiet respect in their eyes.
No one questioned its presence.
As the field quieted, the trio made their way toward the extraction point—Jake, Mason, and the loyal shadow who had chosen them.
The war was far from over.
But now, they had something they didn’t know they needed.
A warhound.
12Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡe75mbxK2Ib
I'm sorry, this story has come to an end, I lost motivation to keep working on it, if any of you would actually want this story, message me!12Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡsysrFCD5JE
